


Shine

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Kings of Nowhere [8]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 07:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12954141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: It's a bit of an in-joke among the Fakes that Gavin's a trouble magnet. Leave him anywhere long enough and the only one you have to blame for whatever happens is yourself.





	Shine

**Author's Note:**

> For miss-ingno who asked for Gavin rescuing someone from the crew and them being surprised by how badass GAvin was, only now it is this? :D???

It's a bit of an in-joke among the Fakes that Gavin's a trouble magnet. Leave him anywhere long enough and the only one you have to blame for whatever happens is yourself.

Bar fights are the most common, Gavin simply being himself and someone taking offense. Someone bigger and meaner than Gavin with giant ham-sized fists and the intent to turn him into a fine paste for being an annoying little shit, and someone will intervene.

Michael, usually, because he's known Gavin long enough to know the kind of trouble he gets himself into. Jeremy, new to the crew but sharp enough to catch on fast, recognize the signs of Gavin slip-sliding his way into the kind of recklessness that ends in disaster when someone strolls up to him and starts running their mouth. On the rare occasions Ryan's feeling bored enough to play, he'll take a turn.)

Michael always yells at Gavin afterwards. 

Skin of his knuckles split open on some nobody's face. Little scrapes and quick-forming bruises marring his own face as he shoves Gavin's shoulder to get his attention. Worry laced in there with his anger because there's going to come a time when Michael or one of the others aren't around to step in to save his stupid ass, and what's he going to do then?

Jeremy gives him a _look_ , bruised and battered and far too smart to be running with the likes of them, but here he is anyway. 

Says, something wry to his voice as he slings his arm around Gavin's shoulders, pulling him off-balance and not giving a damn as they step over the groaning heap of drunken bastard Jeremy's laid out - 

“We need to get you some new hobbies, pal.”

Ryan - 

“It's going to get someone killed one of these days,” he says, twist to his mouth like he _knows_ because only the stupid play fair in this city and they've skated by on luck long enough. “Might want to think about that one.”

So Gavin, he gets himself in trouble here and there but it's never done with any sort of forethought or intention, not really.

There are times he could stand be a bit more careful, though. Remember the kind of city this is, that taking shortcuts isn't the best idea.

Especially when he doesn't feel the need to dress flashy and obnoxious as he makes a run down to the store for snacks while he's working. Wears a ratty old hoodie that has sentimental value. Battered sneakers and ragged jeans and comes up against a mugger – some kid new enough to the city that he doesn't know who the major players are just yet, doesn't know enough to comprehend the mistake he's making. 

“Jesus Christ, _again_?”

Michael of course, annoyed and irritated and the kid goes down with a single punch from him. Short sharp and a little too vicious because Michael worries and hates that he worries. (That these idiots he's fallen in with bring that out in him, the worry and concern and fear of losing it all.)

“Well,” Gavin says, voice muffled as he tries to assess the damage from being punched himself by the would-be mugger. “It's pretty obvious what the answer to that is, don't you think?”

He gets himself in trouble time and again and the others are always there to step in, no matter how many times Gavin tells them it's not necessary. 

Michael rolls his eyes, like Gavin doesn't _get it_. Like it hasn't sunk into that thick skull of his what it means to be part of a crew, part of _this_ crew.

Jeremy nods. Makes noises of agreement as he puts on an understanding face that changes to something blank and honestly a bit terrifying as he looks Gavin dead in the eye and says things like, “Over my dead body, you asshole.”

Ryan sighs, like he can't be bothered to give a verbal response. 

Jack just _looks_ at him, and Geoff - 

“Goddamn pain in my ass,” he sighs, and drags Gavin in for a hug, tight and a bit overwhelming. Whispers, “Do that again, and I'll fucking kill you myself.”

========

Gavin gets himself in trouble, but the others are there to get him out even when he doesn't need it, so it's only fair he return the favor, now isn't it?

========

It's a deal gone bad, gone sideways on them. Gavin listening in on the comms in a borrowed van no one's going to miss for a few hours.

“Well that's just lovely, now isn't it,” Gavin murmurs, Michael's angry voice achingly absent from the comms along with Geoff's cold fury.

Betrayal, ugly and messy and at its heart, bitter.

He's in a borrowed van parked on a dark street and a block over two members of his crew have gone chillingly silent.

He calls Ryan. Calls Jeremy and Jack, and because he's no one's fool despite the running jokes involving him, he calls Lindsay and Trevor as well.

Communication is key, really. Helps to have everyone on the same page in cases like this, so Gavin calls them, and tells them in a calm, even voice that everything's gone tits up.

There's a bit of a problem, though, that most of them are halfway across the city – or in Jeremy and Jack's case, the country – and won't arrive in time to do much more than handle cleanup.

 _“What does that even mean?”_ Ryan asks, noises from his end that translate into the Vagabond gearing up to take back members of his crew by any means necessary. _“Gavin,_ what the fuck does that mean?”

_“This isn't what I meant by new hobbies, but okay.”_

_“Jesus Christ. Gavin, don't do anything stupid. I swear to God, do no do anything stupid, or I'll tell Geoff who was behind that prank last week.”_

_“Gavin, no,”_ Lindsay says, in the tone of voice of someone who really means _Gavin, yes_ and is one of the reasons Gavin loves her as much as he does.

 _“Well, fuck the budget, am I right?”_ Trevor sighs, sounds of a defeated man calling up the cavalry in the background. 

When Gavin tells them it's not necessary to intervene when he gets himself into trouble, he means it.

He's lean, tends to slump and slouch and make himself smaller at times. Wears clothes borrowed from the others when he's slumming about the penthouse. Oversize hoodies and shirts that he pilfers from the others' closets when they're not looking. 

He's not small, really, just. 

Physically unimposing.

No real strength to him the way people in Los Santos tend to measure it. Not like Ryan or Michael or Jeremy. Even Jack, and then there's Geoff who doesn't need it to come across as a threat because everyone knew who he was from the start, and honestly? 

Gavin likes that.

Likes the way people look at him, lips curling into a sneer at the realization that _this_ is Ramsey's lauded Golden Boy.

Scrawny little prick with a big mouth hiding behind Ramsey's reputation, depending on the infamous Vagabond and notorious Mogar – bloody _Rimmy Tim_ \- to protect him from danger. Has them fight his fights for him, delicate thing that he is.

He likes it, because people forget there's a reason Gavin's there in the first place. Why he holds such a coveted position with the Fakes.

There's a gun, a gag gift from Geoff for his birthday early with the Fakes. Gold tint to it that most people see and pass off as some affection of the Golden Boy. More prop than weapon, and he's used that to his advantage in the past more than once.

Knives, too.

Gifts from Ryan, the one with the gold handles and intricate designs along the handle. Gavin likes to say the others are borrowed – some like Ryan might claim they were stolen - unadorned and utilitarian and perfect for getting the job done.

There are all kinds of toys, really, because the Fakes love their weapons don't they, but Gavin sticks with the classics. (For the most part.)

Gavin's in the back of a borrowed van, golden gun heavy at his waist and a handful of knives hidden on his person.

Plenty of other toys to choose from, and Gavin pockets a few because the others won't get here in time if what he heard over the comms was any indication.

It's still dark when he slips out of the van and makes his way to the apartment building Geoff and Michael walked into less than an hour ago now.

He can hear Ryan and the few who have access to the comms in his ear, angry and annoyed and taking it in turns to yell at him or give him updates on their ETAs. It makes for oddly comforting background noise as he sneaks up to the thugs posted outside the building keeping watch.

Waits a bit, and tosses a coin down the way. Little bit of sound that doesn't belong and enough to draw their attention away from whatever conversation they were having. 

Gavin times it perfectly. Waits for the one in charge to bully his friend into checking out the sound and takes them both out without either realizing what's happening. Just a one-two-three fire, and the one in charge goes down moments before the other, suppressor attached to the end of Gavin's gun doing its work beautifully.

He takes the time to pat them down, lifts a keycard from the one in charge and slips inside the building without setting off any alarms.

From there it's a matter of pinning down just where Michael and Geoff have been taken, and that's easy enough because this crew's never understood the meaning of subtle.

The building's under renovation, plastic tarps and construction materials everywhere as Gavin makes his way to the upper floors. Deals with thugs here, there, everywhere along the way with gun and knives and a few surprises as well because he's the resourceful kind. (Picks things up along the way, learns the sort of things that have kept him alive this long.)

Patient, too, when it's necessary, and at this point in time it is because it's Gavin and a rival crew Geoff was to meet with to negotiate a truce.

Bigger and meaner perhaps, but certainly not _better_.

Too used to relying on the kind of strength people expect in a city like Los Santos, size and strength and sheer brutality. Far too stupid to realize that will only get you so far, that if you don't have the brains, resourcefulness to back it up, it won't do you much good in the end.

So Gavin plucks his earpiece out, smiling faintly at Ryan's low threat when Gavin says he'll be off comms because the man knows him well, and replaces it with one from the rival crew. 

Takes a moment to listen in. Something like vicious satisfaction at the low-key panic starting to set in when the guards they've set out to stop something like this from happening fail to check in time and again.

He could have done this silently, gotten past the guards he came across and left them unaware of the intruder in their midst, but where's the fun in that?

(It's possible Ryan's a worse influence than anyone expects, but that's a debate for another day.)

The chatter in his ear leads him to the east side of the building, slices of sky visible between boarded up windows starting to lighten as dawn draws closer, and then - 

“Motherfucker, fucking try it!”

And then there's Michael, angry for all the right reasons and Geoff's voice. Bored and unimpressed and promising retribution for every hurt they dole out to him and his. (Pity, the idiots who have them don't seem to be picking up on that last.)

Gavin pauses for a long moment, weighs the odds. 

Leans out from his hiding spot and sees another air of thugs looking bored. Big and scruffy and really good for one thing with their shiny little guns tucked into the waistbands of their pants.

The crew leader's inside with Michael and Geoff and his top enforcers, doing his best to make a point. Prove to Geoff and the Fakes that he's not scared of them, bunch of misfits and outcasts who think they run this city because they have the Roosters backing them before leaving a message for the others to find.

Michael snarls something else because he doesn't know when to stay down sometimes, whatever insult or observation cut off mid-word and the sound of something breaking. 

A chair, a table, it doesn't matter because the sound carries and the thugs standing guard laugh, like this is all a grand _joke_.

Three seconds later and a smoke grenade rolls to a stop just in front of the two guards. 

Gaudy little thing, painted in orange and purple with the Fake AH Crew logo in the middle because Ryan indulged Jeremy a little too much sometimes. Lets him help when Ryan tinkers with their equipment, give whatever new gadget or upgrade Ryan's come up with some ridiculous name and cover it all in Rimmy Tim's colors.

The guards stare down at it in confusion for a moment before it starts hissing, smoke filling the confined area alarmingly fast.

Gavin waits until the guards start to cough, yell, startled by its potency, before he leans around his cover and fires. 

Once, twice, no need for the suppressor this time as he hears muffled yells through the door. Abandons his position and walks down the center of the hallway, field of vision restricted by the gas mask he wearing, but that's just fine.

Doesn't take much to shoot the first thug who comes barreling out of the doors gun raised like this is some kind of high-budget summer blockbuster. Takes even less to deal with his partner who stumbles to a stop when he sees his buddy go down in front of him.

And then it's Gavin and Michael and Geoff and the bastard holding a gun to Geoff's head.

The man's a coward and obvious about it with the fear in his eyes and the way his hand's shaking just the slightest bit.

Gavin ignores the looks Michael and Geoff are giving him as he tucks away and reaches up to pull the gas mask off.

Hears, more clearly now the damn thing's off - 

“You fucking idiot!”

Gavin snorts, eyes ticking over to where Michael's sprawled on the floor, broken bits of the chair he must have been sat in surrounding him. Bloodied and bruised up and utterly furious.

“Michael,” Gavin says, fingers splayed over his chest. “Those are hurtful words, Michael.”

Michael bares his teeth at Gavin in what some might consider to be a smile, but Gavin's known Michael long enough to know it's the furthest thing possible.

Geoff's watching the two of them with this pained expression on his face. Whether it's due to the latest bout of bickering between them or the bloody mess of his face, it's difficult to tell.

“Who the hell are you?”

Gavin blinks, attention moving to the coward masquerading as this little man who thinks he's _someone_ in this city.

Average height, build – average everything, really. Not all that physically imposing and with his muscle out of the picture, not very interesting to look at, either.

Just a scared little man out of his element here, even though he should be the one calling the shots.

Impatient too, when he pushes the muzzle of his gun against Geoff's head, mean with it, ans he leans forward and demands to know who Gavin thinks he is, coming in here like this. 

Gavin frowns as he pulls out his gun, and studies it as he turns it this way and that. Light catching on the gleaming metal.

Gold tinted and looking more like some kind of prop or a stupid little toy than a weapon, and everyone in Los Santos knows what it means.

“ _You_?” The man says - spits, really - like it hurts. “You're the goddamned Golden Boy everyone talks about?”

Now, Gavin's hardly dressed for the occasion. Wasn't expecting to put on a show for these idiots, not the way Geoff usually asks him to. Glitz and glamour and charming smiles as he lets his accent do a good portion of the work for him, because Americans are so easy.

Gavin's not the only British person in Los Santos, but honestly. 

There are only so many of them running around with crews like the Fakes, only so many who can keep up.

“Sometimes, Gavin says, and lets his hand on his chest drop to his side. 

Gavin gets himself in trouble from time to time, but he's very good at getting himself out of it as well.

It's how he convinced Burnie a hacker of his skills could be a valuable asset, and oh, what a waste of a bullet it would have been, don't you think?

How he's slipped through death's fingers time and again by the barest of margins and come out of it with a grin and some shining prize held tight in his own hands.

It's the way he's finagled his way to where he is now, main member of the Fake AH Crew with a bit of a reputation and people who take exception to anyone looking to hurt one of theirs.

There are words, useful things, and way to spin them to his advantage. Smooth and easy, carefully chosen for the greatest possible effect. Broken and awkward and a confused angle to his head an upward lilt in his words and it buys him precious, precious time because surely no one could be _that_ stupid.

Skills and tricks he's picked up along the way, self-taught or painstakingly learned from someone willing to take the time to teach him. Annoyed and bewildered in turns as to why they agreed to it, but they follow through, and Gavin learns so much.

Learns computers and the things he can do with them, learns how to fight. Roughhousing with friends and the fact that he's fast and agile, that he may never be able to down someone with a single punch but by God does he learn to use what he has.

He learns how to use a gun and the things he can do with one – and those are hard lessons indeed, the kind that leave a mark. Make you so very aware that each time is a _choice_.

He learns and learns and learns, because something's interesting and or useful or more importantly, ways to protect the life he's made for himself here.

The coward of a man laughs, incredulous because Gavin looks nothing like the polished, shining figure the stories paint him as. Confidence in every line of him as he charms Los Santos' criminal elite, forges truces and alliances that benefit the Fakes and weaves webs of lies and deceit to ensnare their enemies.

Laughs, falling back a step, the gun at Geoff's head pointing away for just the slightest moment before it comes to bear on Gavin - 

“Sometimes,” Gavin says again with a little shrug to is as his fingers slide one of his borrowed knives free. Remembers all of Ryan's lessons on the matter, annoyed and bewildered and infinitely patient when he realized why Gavin was so insistent he teach him. “And sometimes I'm this.”

No one of any real consequence, really.

Bit of a spoiled brat all the way from England who managed to stumble into this life. Stupid and young and no idea what he'd done until years later, and even now he only has the edges of it.

Knows one thing with any certainty, and it's that this crew, misfits and outcasts all – are worth keeping. 

So.

Gavin smiles, his arm comes up and the knife flies from his hand in a neat little arc, blade burying itself in this small little man's throat.

Unexpected and all the more brutal for it, blood and strangled noises and then it's Gavin and Michael and Geoff and the body of a man who thought he was more than he was.

========

“What the actual fuck was that?” Michael demands, face an ugly mess of colors and cuts and butterfly bandages. “Gavin. What the fuck?”

Gavin tries to evade him, but Ryan's being no help. 

Big, dumb, idiot standing right in the way and Michael grabs hold of the back of Gavin's hoodie and reels him in before he can wriggle free. Glares at him, anger and worry and this little bit of surprise as he looks at Gavin like maybe he hasn't been seeing the right things even though he knows better.

Geoff's too quiet, slumped in his favorite chair and watching all of them with tired eyes. Face a bit of a mess as well and careful about his ribs.

Lindsay and Trevor and the others had their moment, fussed and fretted and threatened and now it's the four of them in Geoff's penthouse trying to make sense of their night.

Or rather, Michael and Geoff trying to after walking through the building with members of B Team flanking them, combing the area to make sure no evidence of the Fake AH Crew's involvement was left behind for the police to find.

Ryan a looming figure at their backs, Lindsay and Trevor taking the lead with their heads held high, and Michael and Geoff taking in _everything_ with Gavin quiet at their side.

Bodies and bullets and a knife or two, little surprises Ryan had whipped up a while back that had come in useful.

Gavin knows very well what happened, and Ryan's clever enough to have put the pieces together after seeing things for himself.

Michael and Geoff are too, but they're more used to seeing Gavin as this clumsy dolt who's luckier than any one idiot has a right to be. Smart, maybe, but painfully stupid at the same time.

They haven't forgotten that Gavin's more than that, but -

“Michael,” Gavin says, putting a bit of a whine into it, and ignores Ryan's quiet laugh. “You're being mean.”

Michael stares at him, fingers tightening where they're curled into the fabric of Gavin's hoodie, knuckles bled white and - 

“You've been hanging around Ryan too much,” Geoff says, tired and aching and this sharpness to his eyes as he looks at Gavin the way he hasn't in far too long.

Gavin shrugs as much as he's able, with Michael's death-grip and all.

“Eh,” he says, because Geoff's not wrong, exactly, now is he. “Came in handy tonight, didn't it.”

Michael's nostrils flare as he makes a visible effort to let go of Gavin's hoodie, lets him take a few steps back to put some space between them.

He wants to yell, that much is obvious. Yell and rant and rage because Gavin should have waited, he called the others but he should have waited for them to get there. For Ryan, Lindsay and Trevor and the members of B Team, he should have fucking _waited_.

Not gone in after Michael and Geoff like some action hero, stupid and alone and outnumbered. 

Odds even he would have – no, no he wouldn't have, and that's the kicker. The thing that kills him, and Geoff and everyone who's heard about tonight or will - 

Because this crew – misfits and outcasts all – are all completely stupid about one another. Will always take the worst odds if it means the the tiniest chance of success over certain failure.

It's ruined all of them, left them making the kinds of choices like Gavin made tonight. Ones that don't feel like any kind of choice at all when it comes down to it.

“Goddamned idiot,” Michael mutters, stalking off to get himself a drink. 

Angry, still, and shaken because he hasn't forgotten exactly, what Gavin's capable of, just...overlaid it all with Gavin on a typical day.

Bit of a klutz and full of the dumbest ideas imaginable most of the time because his mouth has a tendency to race ahead of his brain and the words don't always come out just right.

“Fucking throwing knives,” Geoff says - something he and Michael are still hung up about – shaking his head and giving Ryan a _look_. “Like it's not bad enough you fuck up my walls with the damn things, now I've got worry about him doing it too?”

Ryan shrugs, loose and easy and deeply amused at the way Michael and Geoff can't seem to come to grips with Gavin's earlier actions. 

“Practice makes perfect, right? Would have been bad if his aim was off.”

Geoff makes an annoyed sort of noise, aggravated as all hell because Ryan's been this side of insufferable once he realized things were well in hand, that the others were safe. 

Jack and Jeremy are on their way back to Los Santos and Ryan's been tasked with making sure Gavin and the others stay put long enough for them to make damn sure with their own eyes they haven't managed to get themselves killed this time.

Gavin rolls his eyes and settles down on the couch, corner of his mouth tipping upwards when Michael throws himself down beside him. Grudgingly hands him a drink and slumps back against the cushions to glare at Gavin while Geoff and Ryan bicker off to the side.

“Michael?”

Michael's jaw works for a moment before his lips curl into a half-hearted sneer.

“You're still a fucking idiot,” Michael says, like he's expecting Gavin to deny it. Holds out a hand and mimes throwing something – a knife, perhaps – at the wall opposite them, expression sliding from annoyed to disbelieving to angry in the time it takes Gavin to blink. “Fucking throwing knife? Sure, why the fuck not?”

Gavin smiles to himself as Michael continues to mutter to himself, turning the coin Lindsay had handed to him as they were being bundled off to the penthouse over and over without seeming to realize what he's doing. 

Shiny bit of metal he's been toying with for the past few minutes, and grumbles to himself while glaring at Gavin like he just knows there are things people – Gavin, the others – aren't telling him and is determined to discover no matter how long it takes him, stubborn bastard.

Gavin gets himself in trouble from time to time, but he's very good at getting himself out of it as well. Can talk rings around other people when he sets his mind to it or put to use the things he's learned here and there.

Can do a great many things it would seem, but manage to untangle himself from the kind of trouble that translates into Michael and Geoff. Ryan and Jack and Jeremy. Lindsay and Trevor and the other misfits and outcasts that have come together against all odds, and honestly, he thinks he can live with it. Remembers having heard that it's good to have a little trouble in your life, keeps things from getting boring and all that, and heaven forbid that should ever happen.

“Are you listening to me, you piece of shit?”

Gavin bites the inside of his cheek and puts on a properly interested face as Michael lists off all the ways Gavin was an idiot tonight, and wonders what he'd say if he knew he's only got the smallest bit of it, and decides it's only right that he let him in on it a little it at a time. 

For accuracy's sake, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick, short little thing. It did not turn out that way. /o\


End file.
